Capturing Sakura
by outbright
Summary: AU. Photographer Sasori would be smart to keep away from her, this feisty pink-haired star with the perfect Sasuke Uchiha courting her. But for whatever reason, his heart just wouldn't let him. —SasoSaku
1. Three Little Birds

**The SasoSaku fandom is really quite small, I'm aware, but I'm in love with the idea of them, so I'm going to give it a chance and start this story. Please give _me _and this _story _a chance as well, and read/review. **

* * *

_1. Three Little Birds  
_

Kakashi Hatake had discovered Sakura Haruno when she was an eighteen-year-old freshman at Konoha University, two months into her nursing studies and not quite finished with dreaming.

It had been in an upscale restaurant that the businesspeople of downtown liked to frequent, and amid the low light and the much-better-dressed, Sakura was nothing more than a voice.

But it was an extraordinary voice.

He wasn't surprised that no one else in the restaurant seemed to think it very remarkable, and it didn't skew his judgment in the least. He was used to it, because these were mundane people with mundane existences and mundane senses. They were here to chat, relax, enjoy good food, and if the music was tolerable, there would be no complaints.

But he, Kakashi, had been trained to pick up on the microscopic details, the nuances in a voice, the lifts, the pitch, the emotion, the sound. And what he was picking up from Sakura's voice was a bright sound, one with promise and charisma and a solid range that could be improved with time.

"Pardon me," Kakashi said to his table, standing and raising a hand to excuse himself. "Restroom."

As he passed the stage, he slowed his pace, keeping his eyes on her silhouette. She was seated on a stool, legs crossed, hands on her knees. He could see the glimmer of her white teeth, centimetres away from the standing microphone, and the shine of her eyes, so very green and large and coy, blinking right above.

Her hair was a question in itself; perhaps orange, or red, but it was difficult to say given the poor lighting.

Mental notes clicked in, one after another, as Kakashi stepped past and left the stage behind in his pursuit of the restroom.

It was another half-hour before the business dinner ended, and Kakashi's colleagues began to leave. He explained to them that he would take care of the bill, and once the last of them had gone, he called for a refill of wine.

Yet another half-hour and another glass later, the restaurant had cleared. The bartender was wiping his counter and the busboys were hustling. Kakashi waited until Sakura had stood from the stool and got up from his seat as she took a long drink of water from a plastic bottle.

"Wonderful performance tonight, miss," he said cheerfully from beneath the stage, hands in his pockets.

Her green eyes widened a fraction when she realized that there was still a patron about. She swallowed the water in her mouth and ended up gasping slightly as she spoke, out of excitement at having been complimented. "Oh – oh, thank you! That's so nice of you, really—"

Kakashi smiled, amused by how flustered she was. "Yes, you're quite talented."

Sakura flushed, biting her lip. "Oh, no, really – there's a couple who comes here on Tuesdays and Thursdays and they're _truly _good—"

Kakashi had heard the duets before. "Good, for sure," he agreed, still beaming at her, "but they don't have any _shine_, they don't have the charisma, the spark, the _magic_ … I believe the industry refers to it as _star potential_."

Sakura was listening intently.

"You've got it, though," Kakashi added, calm and off-handed. "I think you could make it big."

He caught the softest of sighing sounds as she smiled warmly. "Oh, that's very sweet of you." Sakura lowered herself to her knees, capping her water bottle and packing it away into a black tote bag at the foot of the microphone stand.

"I don't give praise to be sweet, my dear," he said, reaching into his breast pocket and withdrawing a business card. He slid it onto the wooden surface of the stage, letting it rest right by her ankle. "I do it to make money. For myself, and for you."

Faintly bemused, Sakura lifted the card, slow and cautious, and scanned it. She took in the peculiar company name, the even more peculiar man's name, all of it.

"A record label," she read aloud, quiet, disbelieving. "You work for a record label."

Kakashi chuckled. "Actually, I own a record label."

Sakura was shaking her head. "Oh my gosh," she whispered, fingers on her lips. "Oh my f– is this really happening?"

He stared at her for a few moments before he spoke again. "Take some time, think it over. If you're interested, give the office a call and we can set up an appointment. Bring your parents, if you want, but I'll only need their permission if you're still a minor."

Fifteen hours later, an agreement was reached, a contract was signed, and a pink-haired, green-eyed star was born.

* * *

_Two years after_

* * *

Sasori Akasuna was twenty-two years old and the youngest photographer hired by the legendary Akatsuki Studios.

"Beauty," he muttered, zooming in and refocusing. Once the shot was in place, the shutter clicked and the picture was captured.

"Sasori," came the familiar voice of Deidara. "Your break's over. Itachi's waiting. What're you doing?"

Sasori was standing on a picnic table a few meters away from the emergency exit of the studio building, one foot on the bench and the other atop the table. He stepped down to the ground and extended the camera to Deidara. "Check it out."

Deidara inspected the photos in silence for a few moments, then, as he opened the exit door for Sasori, handed back the camera with disinterest. "Tch," he scoffed, "you call this art? Art is an explosion, yeah."

Sasori shot Deidara a sidelong glare as he took back the camera and turned away to duck through a black curtain. On the other side were a line-up of undressed mannequins and bare heads.

He set his camera down on a shelf and ran his fingers along one of the fake faces. _This _was true art, the eternality of creation. Just like his photographs, and unlike himself, these things had the potential to live forever.

"Sasori," drawled Kakuzu, from outside the curtain. "Itachi's brother has arrived. He's in Studio 9, waiting for you."

Sasori nodded for no one to see and shrugged off his jacket, then made for Studio 9. As he neared the area, he could see a tall, lean figure with dark hair and a small entourage of makeup artists bustling about him – Sasuke Uchiha, he supposed.

Itachi, Sasori's supervisor, was standing by Sasori's camera, looking impatient.

"Sasuke's behind," Itachi snapped, as Sasori took his place behind the camera. "Don't waste time today. He's meeting an interviewer for dinner at four."

Sasori looked at Itachi as if he were an idiot. "Do I ever waste time?"

Itachi had already started walking away. "Just make them good."

Sasori could do that. Sasori would make them better than _good_.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked Sasuke. "Get in front of my camera."

A thin, perfect eyebrow lifted, then Sasuke dusted off his fussing stylists and stalked over to the backdrop.

Sasori absolutely hated this part of his job. The photography was one thing, but the industry was another. There was nothing that Sasori hated more than the hair-tossing, label-whoring, airheaded celebrities that he was being made to photograph on a daily basis. They were stupid. Utterly. They may have been talented, or beautiful, or both, but they were obsessed with their weight, their looks, their reputation, and their money. It was nauseating just to be around them.

Sasuke was an experienced model, that much was obvious. It made the shooting a lot easier and quicker when they were.

"Chin down," Sasori ordered, and Sasuke complied. "That's it."

Stepping back from the camera, Sasori signalled to Itachi who was hovering around the other side of the set. Itachi nodded, satisfied, and immediately crossed over to Sasuke.

_Glad that's over_, Sasori thought, rubbing his neck. Bending over a camera could be taxing. _He was my last shoot today, I think. _

"Sasori!" shouted Deidara, passing by Studio 9 with a sealed box in his arms. "I'm working overtime for Pein's project; I don't need a ride today."

Sasori didn't respond. He simply headed for the little room behind the black curtain where he had left his jacket and personal camera.

"Hey, wait up."

He turned at the sound of the voice. It belonged to Konan, the studio owner's personal secretary and not-so-secret girlfriend.

"Here's your schedule for tomorrow," she said, handing him a closed manila file. "Two singers in the morning, and then a movie cast shooting for the afternoon."

Sasori raised his eyebrows. "That's it?"

"You've never done a movie poster shoot, have you?" Konan said, her face expressionless. He wondered if she was looking down on him. "They normally take a few hours. Cast members are shot individually, in pairs, groups, altogether, in different outfits, different backdrops … if necessary, we might need to allot another day for it."

Sasori shrugged. A shoot was a shoot. He took the file and left.

* * *

Sakura Haruno, now twenty, was at the height of her stardom.

"So beautiful," murmured Hinata. Sakura had met her friends, Ino and Hinata, in high school; Hinata had followed Sakura into nursing, and had just recently graduated. Ino, on the other hand, had pursued a degree in Business and taken over her family flower shop.

Hinata ran her fingers across the glossy magazine cover on which Sakura was printed.

"Hinata-chan, that's photoshopped," Sakura laughed, waving her hand as if to dismiss the comment. "You both know I don't look like that."

Hinata glanced up at Sakura, shy. "Yes, you d-do," she said. "You just don't wear as much m-makeup as you did here."

Ino smirked and punctured her poached egg with her fork. "Too bad makeup can't change the size of her forehead."

"Do I smell jealousy, Pig?"

"You're obviously delusional, Billboard Brow."

Sakura grinned, enjoying their banter. It wasn't often that she found time to spend with her friends, so these rare dates were extremely special to her.

"Speaking of billboards," Ino said, "guess whose face I saw on the biggest billboard ever today?"

Hinata thought hard. "Sakura-chan's?"

Ino snorted. "She wishes." Then: "Sasuke-kun's!"

Sakura smiled slightly as she watched Ino perform her melodramatic love-at-first-sight swoon.

"Seriously, Forehead. Get his number for me already."

Sakura shrugged. "I'm helpless, Ino," she said truthfully. "I haven't even met him yet."

She could see the appeal of Sasuke Uchiha. Where she dominated the music industry as the favourite female singer, Sasuke was undeniably her male counterpart. He was cool, dark, mysterious – and his speaking voice alone was enough to send chills down a girl's spine. His singing voice was simply breathtaking.

_Ring-a-ling-a-ding-a-ring-a-ling-a-ding-a—_

"Whoops – hello?"

"Sakura?" came the muffled voice of Kakashi on the other end of the line. "Are you at home yet?"

Sakura frowned. "No, I'm still with Ino and Hinata. What's up?"

Kakashi coughed. "Nothing urgent. I just faxed a sheet to your condo. Akatsuki managed to fit you in for tomorrow morning at eleven."

Sakura sat up in her seat. According to Kakashi, Akatsuki was a fairly prestigious studio and were normally booked months in advance. "That's great," Sakura said. "What's the fax?"

"Just the address," said Kakashi, "and directions. I have a meeting with my lawyer in the morning tomorrow, so I can't pick you up. I'll meet you at the studio."

Sakura nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see her. "I can find my way," she assured him, even though she would probably have to resort to taking a cab. "See you then."

Kakashi disappeared from the line and Sakura clicked her phone shut, returning it to her handbag. Hinata and Ino broke off from their side-conversation and both turned to look at her.

"Good news?" Ino asked cautiously.

Sakura smiled wide. "Great news," she corrected. "I finally got an Akatsuki photoshoot for my album cover. Kakashi tells me they're the best."

* * *

Sasuke Uchiha was waiting by the Akatsuki Studios front entrance.

Once the familiar black car pulled up to the curb, Sasuke was helped into the backseat to join his publicist, who was scanning a document with nearly every word highlighted.

She looked up as Sasuke entered, tucking crimson hair behind her ear. "How was the shoot?" she asked, hardly sounding like she cared.

Sasuke shrugged and didn't answer vocally, but Karin was accustomed to his silences.

"So the interviewer requested a private dining room for the two of you … I don't quite know what he thinks he's expecting from this interview, but as long as you don't act out of line, there shouldn't be a problem."

Sasuke scoffed inwardly. Was he _ever _anything but professional?

Karin pushed her glasses further up her nose and added, "I was forwarded the list of questions this afternoon. Most of them are fairly straightforward, like how you were discovered, when you realized your talent, your hobbies, your skincare regimen, what you think of your fans …"

Sasuke nodded. Those sorts of questions he could manage.

"… then there's a question on your opinion of Sakura Haruno," finished Karin, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes.

Sasuke didn't seem surprised. It was probably due to the fact that they both enjoyed a similar degree of fame, being the current hottest names in the music business. "Hn. So what do you want me to say?"

Karin tapped the document she was holding, but he didn't bother reading it. She would tell him what he needed to know without him having to. "You're going to tell them the truth – that you haven't met her yet. You're going to say that she seems very dedicated and is a great artist, and that you look forward to meeting her when the two of you work together for your next single."

Sasuke nearly did a double-take. "What was that?"

Karin tapped the driver on the shoulder: "Take a left right here; the radio said our exit is going to be closed off at five." She glared at her wristwatch. "Darn it, we're running later than I thought."

"Karin," said Sasuke. "Tell me about this next single."

Karin sighed and relented. "Well, it turns out Sakura Haruno said on a talk show, not too long ago, that she thought you were very talented and would love an opportunity to collaborate with you—"

"That," Sasuke interjected, "was probably bullcrap that her own publicist fed her, too."

Karin flushed and continued, louder, "—so we reached out to them and pitched the idea for a duet, and they agreed. You're meeting Sakura this weekend in a songwriting session to see how things go."

"And if they don't go well?"

"Then we'll have a professional songwriter whip something up for the two of you to record, and you won't have to bother with her again," Karin said airily. "No big deal. Now, we're here. Fix your collar. Stop glaring at me. Get inside, you're already late."

* * *

Sasori opened up the box of pizza and piled three slices onto a heavy plate, then carried it over to his futon with the manila file tucked under his arm.

The loft he occupied was small and rather cluttered, filled with his belongings, most of which were either black or red in colour. There were various photographs and paintings hung up around the walls, the odd puppet or mannequin shoved into a corner.

Sasori took a bite of pizza and opened the file lazily with one hand, flipping through the information.

_0900: clock in, print yesterday's pictures, prepare for shoot_

_ 0930: pro fighter Rock Lee photoshoot for TNX Protein Supplement promotion_

_ 1030: wrap up, prepare for next shoot_

_ 1100: musical artist Sakura Haruno photoshoot for album cover_

_ 1200: lunch break_

_ 1300: clock in, prepare for shoot_

_ 1330: Blood Prison cast photoshoot for movie promotion_

Sasori tossed that sheet on the floor and moved on to the next.

It was a profile drawn up on the aforementioned Rock Lee, complete with a picture.

Sasori grimaced and nearly choked on his pizza.

This fellow would be difficult to photograph. He was, from head to toe, absolutely ugly. He had eyes that bugged out in a disturbing manner, set below bushy brows and a bowl-shaped haircut that shimmered from either grease or excess hair gel. He was extremely gangly and did not have a very impressive physique at all, which Sasori doubted would be able to sell protein supplements.

However, it was _his _job to make his subjects look appealing and inspiring.

Mentally groaning, Sasori let that sheet fall to the ground as well and glanced at the next.

It was a profile of Sakura Haruno.

He had heard of her – who hadn't? – and had prayed that he would never have to work with her. She was one of the biggest names on the charts at the moment, and, although he had never met her, probably the bitchiest hair-tossing, label-whoring, airheaded celebrity of them all. She was a sweet personality in her interviews, and none of her work was offensive or explicit, but Sasori wasn't a fool: most of the time, these types were the worst two-faces.

He studied her, already brainstorming ideas on how he could make the most of her features. The better he worked, the faster it'd be over.

She had short pink hair that would contrast nicely with any coloured backdrop, and brilliant green eyes that he could use to his advantage. Her skin tone was fair and even, her figure was slender and typical of pretty young things. She, at least, seemed more photogenic than Rock Lee would be.

Sasori skimmed through the profiles on the cast members of the _Blood Prison _movie, finished three additional slices of pizza, then called it a night and headed for bed.

He had a feeling that he had a long day ahead of him tomorrow.

(Oh, he had _no idea_.)

* * *

_**Merci beaucoup **_**for reading the first chapter of **_Capturing Sakura**. **_

**Interested in more? Review! **


	2. Firsthand Feel

**I want to thank every single reviewer, follower, and favouriter. I initially doubted that this story could take off but you all made it happen; your support means everything to me. Without further ado, here is the second installment of** _Capturing Sakura**.  
**_

* * *

_2. Firsthand Feel  
_

Sasori looked up from the camera. He thought he had done a pretty good job with this one.

Rock Lee was not an easy character to photograph: to put it simply, he was an eyesore. Yet it wasn't for nothing that Sasori was Akatsuki's youngest full-time photographer; he had managed several shots that actually made Rock Lee seem formidable and somewhat impressive.

"Sasori," came a voice from behind him, and he turned around just in time to catch the hand signal from one of the stylists peeking out from the mudroom curtain.

Sasori glanced at the clock and turned to Rock Lee. "Change," he instructed, cracking his neck and heading for the emergency exit. While Rock Lee underwent his final transformation, Sasori would take a break of his own.

His own camera in hand, he stepped out into the open air. Lifting his most precious possession to eye level, he surveyed Akatsuki's backdoor world through his lens, pivoting every now and then in a new direction.

It was a dreary morning. The sun was hiding and the shadows were uncooperative. He turned the corner of the building, slowly, and met an unexpected sight.

A small group of preteen boys surrounded a taller girl with pink hair. The lone youth she was facing was rolling his eyes, while the ones behind her back were making faces at her.

There was absolutely no doubt who she was.

"—not even _mine_, and if I weren't the angel I am, I would've made each of you pay for it from your own sorry little pockets—"

At this point Sakura Haruno had glanced over her shoulder to glare at the other boys, and caught one of them making an inappropriate gesture about her legs.

"Hey!" she snapped, whirling around and swatting his hands away from her. "Grow up, punk!"

The other boys sniggered and hooted.

"Come on, Sakura-chan, we're your _biiigggest _fans," pouted one of the boys, beaming at her with a grin too wide to be innocent. "We just think you're so pretty!"

Sakura Haruno sighed and actually hesitated. Sasori lowered the camera a few inches from his face to watch the scene with his bare eyes. Was she stupid?  
Then she swiped out, deliberately missing all of the kids, and bared a dramatic bite. "Oh, give it a rest, you monsters," she said. "Shoo! Go home; I have a photoshoot today, okay?"

The boys obediently left, but not without their personal goodbyes.

"Rock it, Sakura-chan!"

"You look sexy!"

"See you at your concert, 'kay babe?"

And then they were gone, with the echo of one final wolf-whistle.

Sakura Haruno shook her head in disbelief and brushed hair off of her face. She turned around to make for the door, but then saw Sasori.

"You're early for your photoshoot," he said casually, before she could say anything.

She glared at the empty parking space beside her. "I have terrible sense of direction," she admitted, a little ashamed. "I had to call a driver to make sure I wouldn't be late."

"Oh, don't worry," Sasori said, snide. "No one expects much from you to begin with."

Immediately, her green eyes narrowed, but she didn't retaliate like he thought she would. Instead she looked him up and down; he watched her searching gaze move, from his face to his hair to the camera at his chest.

"What did you do?" she demanded, stare fixed on the camera.

"Nothing," Sasori said honestly. "What did _you _do?"

Sakura looked him right in the eyes, defiant. "Nothing _wrong_," she started. "It was their fault."

"Isn't it always," Sasori deadpanned.

She shot him a dirty look, puzzled by his meaning and uncalled-for hostility. "They drew on the windows while we were unpacking the trunk!" she exclaimed. "I mean, yeah, okay, they thought it was _my _car, honest mistake, but still—"

"Big deal," Sasori said, leaning against the wall of the building. "Not like you're poor and can't fix it."

"That's obviously not the issue," Sakura huffed. "Of course I paid it all off, for the drive and the damage and everything. It's those little nightmares, they think we're _friends _or something. They make trouble for me everywhere. If I weren't so damn _nice _they would all be penniless for everything they've done by now."

"Indeed," Sasori said mockingly. "Your life is a hell."

Sakura raised an eyebrow and pegged him with a sharp look. "Hey," she said slowly, "I don't even know you. What did I ever do to you?"

"Oh, I know_ you_," Sasori said, smirking without humour. "I know your _type_. And I'll tell you right now, I hate it. I hate everything you stand for."

There was a pause in which Sakura's expression shifted from confusion to revulsion.

"Well, let me tell _you_," she said indignantly, walking to the backdoor and yanking it open with unnecessary force. "You're just jaded, and you don't know a thing about me."

The door slammed shut behind her, and Sasori's smirk faded.

_ Fierce._

* * *

Sakura forgot all about the enigmatic redhead once inside the makeup room.

"I love it," she declared, blinking at her reflection. "Oh wow. This is just great – like, this eyeliner right here – you have to show me how to do that sometime."

The makeup artist laughed and urged Sakura to her feet. "You have the most amazing eyes," she told Sakura, leading her over to where a stylist was drawing accessories out of a box. "You're going to look so lovely, darling."

Sakura smiled and knelt down obediently by the box, and was immediately made to try various necklaces and earrings.

It was exactly three minutes past eleven by the time Sakura was ushered out to the shooting area. She looked around her, mesmerized by the set and the equipment and the noise. She had done many photoshoots before, but the experience would never get lose its glamour.

She crossed the platform to take her place by the backdrop, but was caught off guard by the sight of a familiar mysterious redhead shrugging out of his jacket.

_Him, _she thought with displeasure, growing nervous as he started adjusting the camera. _He's my photographer_. _Oh, God. _

Sakura needed a moment to remind herself she was a professional. She was also a celebrity. She should be used to stereotypes and misconceptions from strangers who felt like they knew her when they didn't. The redhead's prejudice against celebrities clearly wasn't preventing him from willingly photographing them, so she couldn't let her frustration prevent her from giving her best effort for the sake of her career.

Determined not to show any vulnerability, Sakura faced him without a hint of surprise or recognition and said politely, "Can we start?"

He took his place and posture, trained his eyes on the lens. "Whenever you're ready," he said.

She nodded, faced the camera, and the shooting began.

Sasuke Uchiha was back at Akatsuki Studios that morning.

"This one works," said Karin, leaning over the desk and pointing to a thumbnail of Sasuke's face on the computer screen. "You're pensive, melancholy, but not dark … what do you think?"

Sasuke unfolded his arms from his chest and let them fall into his pockets. It would do. "Hn," he said, half-shrugging as he turned to his brother. "How soon can we get it?"

"Tomorrow," Itachi said confidently. "I'll have it cleaned and edited right now and have your single cover processed by tonight."

Karin straightened up and looked at Itachi. "We'll also need to schedule another photoshoot for Sasuke soon," she said. "There's a collaboration in the works with Sakura Haruno, and we're expecting another single out of that."

(It was the smarter move to have Sasuke's agency book the photoshoot rather than Sakura's. Being Itachi's sibling, it was ridiculously easy for Sasuke to get appointments at the studio, while other celebrities were usually denied or wait-listed.)

Itachi raised an eyebrow. "Sakura Haruno?" he repeated. "Interesting. I believe she's in a photoshoot of her own at the moment, over in Studio 13."

Sasuke half-listened to the discussion that ensued between his publicist and brother for a few minutes more, then slipped through the open door and wandered over to Studio 13. He wanted a firsthand feel of Sakura Haruno before he met her for the first time tomorrow.

At first he lingered by the curtain, but when he was caught by a flamboyantly-dressed woman exiting from the other side, he was invited in. He stepped through the curtain silently and hovered around the edges of the area, watching from a distance.

With pink hair and green eyes, Sakura Haruno was both hard to miss and instantly recognizable. She was a natural at modelling, comfortable in her own skin and bold with her expressions. Her poses came quick and confident, her smiles ranged from soft to sharp, her movements graceful and never hesitant.

It was her eyes, a shade of understated green impossible to dream up, that stole the spotlight. They were unstoppably conspicuous, somehow standing out even when they were part-shaded by body, hair, or shadows.

Sasuke's gaze shifted to the workers, most of which had paused in their activities to stare. There was an inexplicable energy about her when she moved, her focus apparent. When Sasuke modelled, he garnered attention for his attractiveness. Sakura Haruno seemed able to captivate with just her charisma.

He watched as the redheaded photographer straightened up from his camera and let out a short breath. Sasuke could see that he, too, was impressed. This shoot was moving much faster than Sasuke's had the other day, the reason being that Sakura managed several more poses per minute.

"Change," came the routine call, and Sakura stretched, shook out the cramps in her neck. Sasuke's eyes followed her as she stepped off the platform and accepted a drink of water from a waiting intern, then disappeared into the makeup room.

The photographer was scanning through the photos he had already taken on his camera. Sasuke noticed him stop at one, cock his head to the side, narrow his brown eyes and withdraw, then cross the set.

"Care for a drink of mineral water?" piped the intern, as the redhead passed.

He paused, but didn't take any water. "Where did the girl go?"

"I-I don't know, the makeup room?" the intern stammered. "What do you need her for, Sasori-san?"

"To see if she changed," Sasori said. "There's a shot I want to retake."

"I think she's in the mudroom," said a passing makeup artist, sounding distracted. "She changed really quickly, then said she wanted to have a snack before the shoot continued."

Sasuke left then. He'd been around Sakura Haruno for no more than ten minutes, and already he was feeling the force from her, the pressure, the challenge.

Inexplicably, it excited him.

* * *

Sakura Haruno was _not _snacking; she was _snooping_.

She had found it, Sasori's personal camera. He had left it out on the bare shelf in the corner of the mudroom, the sleeve of his jacket slung protectively around it. It did no good, though, in protecting the camera from Sakura's hands.

She was certain that he had caught something on his camera earlier that morning. Whether it had been Sakura reprimanding her troublemakers, or when she had swung her arm out at them (in her defense, good-humouredly). But the media would never be so open-minded to think so.

Kakashi – (who, by the way, was expectedly running late) – had drilled it into her like a mantra, the no-bounds nature of the entertainment industry. They would jump at the chance to turn against even the sweetest of celebrities and she was hardly an exception. So far she had been fortunate and careful enough to avoid any heavy-damage headlines, and she was determined to keep it this way.

The best method?

Trust no one.

The camera was far from easy to figure out. She had never been very adept with technology, and it was clear that this was an advanced model, designed for professionals like Sasori. Forgetting she was wearing a dreadful-tasting gloss, she chewed nervously on her lower lip as she fumbled with the various buttons and switches.

She was so caught up in the complexity of the device that she hardly noticed the _swoosh _of the curtain as it opened.

"There you are," came a dreadfully familiar voice from behind her. "What do you think you're—?"

_Oh, no! Not him—!_

(whoa, whoa, whoa)

_WHAM._

— uh, oh.

Sakura hands froze in the air where they had tried to grasp at the falling camera, then fisted in failure and started to tremble.

"You – fucking – _didn't_—"

"I'm sorry, it was an accident—"

"An accident." Sasori craned back his head and stared at the ceiling incredulously. She could read it in his face, that he knew all too well what she had been after, that she hadn't trusted him. "Because nothing is your fault, isn't that right?"

"I never said it _wasn't _my fault!"

She reached down and gently picked up the camera, stroking the crack on the screen, the chips along the edge. She pressed the power button slowly, hopelessly. It wasn't turning on.

Sakura couldn't look at him. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I'll buy you a new one."

Brown eyes stared at her with cold fury. "You'll buy me a new one?" he repeated, quietly. "What do you take me for, brat?"

Caught off guard, Sakura stumbled. "W-What—?"

"Not only do you have no respect for my things," Sasori said, "you don't have any respect for me. You think throwing your money at me is going to help anything?"

"Oh, yes, because _you _had so much respect for _me _before we even _met," _Sakura argued. "And I'm not _throwing my money _at you – I'm trying to fix what I've done wrong!"

"I didn't ask youto," Sasori told her. "You've done enough, don't you think?"

Sakura didn't falter this time. "It was an _accident_," she emphasized.

"Oh, and I suppose you came upon the camera by _accident, _too?"

She glared up at him, and at once, a knowing smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"I was—"

"I know what you were doing," he said coolly. "Do you like doing pointless things or something? I told you before, I didn't have anything on there."

She searched his face, the unfathomable eyes that were somehow stone-cold, somehow all mischief. They hadn't even spared the camera another glance since he'd first entered.

"You aren't even mad about this, are you?" she said, part curious, part accusatory.

"No, I'm not," came her confirmation, faintly amused, "but I'm finding it annoying how you feel I need you to do something for me because of it."

"It's common courtesy," she said matter-of-factly. "I messed up and it cost you, so I should pay you back."

Sasori folded his arms across his chest, impassive once again. "Pointless," he echoed.

Sakura bit her lip and looked away, feeling helpless and at the end of her rope. "Fine," she said, defeated. "Then I just _won't_."

"Do as you please."

She blinked up at him, brow wrinkled, taken aback. "You're ... impossible," she said exasperatedly, shaking her head slow. "Then – then let's just put it aside. And finish the shoot—"

But he cut her off, wearing a mocking smile so microscopic she wondered if she were imagining it. "No," he told her, deadly calm, "This shoot is over. Go home."

Sakura, more confused than ever and starting to feel slightly irritated, set her jaw and said, "Alright. Then … goodbye, I guess."

As much as she felt like snapping at him ("You are _totally _mad!"), she figured the least she could do was to get out of his way, if this was his manner of asking for it. Stepping around him, she retrieved her bag and the clothes she'd come in, and left as quick as she could.

Outside at the curb a few meters away from the studio building, she waited for Kakashi.

Sakura placed her face in her hands and sighed, self-reproachful. That she had lost her album photoshoot at a time when the deadlines were closing in was not the kind of news she had wanted to meet her manager with. To make matters worse, the photographer likely hated her insides and she doubted he'd be jumping at the chance to work with her again.

On the bright side, she _was_ meeting _the _Sasuke Uchiha tomorrow.

* * *

**Once again, thanks to everyone who favourites, follows, and/or reviews; I hope you continue to read and enjoy this story.**

**Review for more?**


	3. Open Spaces

_3. Open Spaces_

Sakura frowned at the bottom of her empty plastic cup.

"Your slurping is the most unladylike thing I've ever seen," Kakashi remarked from the driver's seat.

Sakura shook the straw around inside. "Fourteen ounces is not enough smoothie," she said, glum. "I'm still hungry."

"Then why didn't you buy some food instead?"

"I didn't want there to be bits stuck in my teeth when I meet Sasuke-kun," Sakura told him, as though he were dense for not having realized.

"But Sakura-chan," he said jovially, "you have raspberry seeds in there instead. Plus, some of your teeth are stained red."

Sakura leaned back in the passenger seat and inspected her teeth in the side mirror. Then she threw back her head and giggled at herself.

Kakashi chuckled along, brought his car to the curb.

Sakura stepped out, a drawstring bag in hand. She crept through the emergency exit door feeling intrusive and unwelcome, and ducked fast into the mudroom, hoping to avoid a certain redheaded photographer.

It wasn't long before a worker swept in, and recognized her immediately.

"Sakura Haruno?"

She had long, dark hair, admirably toned arms, and a no-nonsense, tomboy style that Sakura could never have pulled off.

"Yeah, hi, I'm here to drop off the clothes I was wearing on Friday?" Sakura said. She kept her voice low and furtive. "Sorry, I kind of left in a hurry and never changed out."

"Oh," the worker said, looking surprised. From her reaction, Sakura suspected that the clothes had never been missed at all. "Well, thanks, Sakura." She took the drawstring bag and glanced inside. "Hey, so will you be returning to finish your shoot?"

Sakura bit her lip. "Um … I don't know. I … I'm a bit booked at the moment, but I'd _really _like to. I'll see."

"Right, I see. I'm Kin Tsuchi. If you want, I can talk to your photographer, Sasori, and he can probably find some time for you."

Sakura resisted the urge to scoff out loud. That Sasori probably wouldn't give her a morsel of food on the brink of death.

"Thanks so much … Kin," she murmured, smiling with pursed lips and excusing herself quickly.

As Sakura closed the backdoor behind her, a forgotten bin of trash and discarded items left outside caught her attention.

* * *

Sasuke arrived late to Sakura Haruno's condo.

The first apology, however, came from her.

"Sorry I had you come all the way here. I really hate trying to work in a work environment."

She paused, then rolled her eyes at how nonsensical she sounded.

Sasuke shrugged and slid his keys onto the countertop. "Hn."

The condo décor was minimalist in nature, but furnished to her personality. Beige couches, pink rugs, dark brown wood accents, stainless steel. He set his guitar carefully against the back of the armchair.

"Want a drink?" Sakura asked, opening the fridge door. "I've got cream soda, soy milk, coconut water, calamansi juice … I could make a smoothie … if you want something warm, I can start up some coffee, tea, hot chocolate—"

"What about beer?" Sasuke interjected.

She straightened up and raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of the day?" she said, taken aback, but reached inside and procured one for him. "Need some ice?"

He shook his head and took the cold silver can from her reaching hand. "Thanks."

She gestured for him to take a seat, so he took the armchair and she the loveseat. "Right," she said, businesslike, "what kind of song are we going to write?"

Sasuke stared at her. "What else is there for a male-female duet besides a love song?"

Sakura swung her legs up onto the loveseat and tucked them underneath her. "I don't know," she said absent-mindedly, "but don't you think it's better if we _don't _write a love song? Since, you know, we aren't in love."

"Does it matter?" Sasuke said, thumbing open his can of beer. A foaming hiss escaped. "I wasn't in love when I co-wrote the love songs on my last album. I've never been in love."

Sakura blinked. "Me neither," she admitted. "But – but this is different. When I sing a love song, it's no big deal because everyone does that. If I sang a love song with _you_, there might be, you know, stories about us."

"That's what you're afraid of?" said Sasuke.

"I know, I know," Sakura said, flinging around limp wrists, "it's stupid, because I'm a celebrity and I have to live with it and _whatever_. But I'm not like _you_. I wasn't a child star and I'm not drop-dead gorgeous. I was an average kid. After two years of all this success, I _still _don't feel like I belong in this world. I still get scared about people talking about me. I still feel nervous about facing my audiences. Just like normal people would. And I'm very protective of my media profile."

It was true, he _didn't _know the depth of the differences between celebrity status and normalcy, but he would be lying if he said that the intensity of the industry hadn't ever left him shaken before.

He told her. At fifteen, he'd suffered from a seemingly endless string of rumours about a nonexistent sex scandal involving a high school freshman. The case had almost been taken to court. At eighteen, Itachi had brought him to a bar with Kisame and the blogs had exploded with concern that the older brother was corrupting the family baby with his alcohol addiction. (It was hardly an addiction. But Karin, under the stress, had nearly resigned that month.)

On the other hand, Sakura hadn't been struck so harshly. Her worst and only, she said, was a short-lived run of speculative pieces about her obscure background, stating that during her freshman year of college, Sakura had been an impulsive shopper who wasted her parents' cash on designer products, got into prostitution by night and musical gigs by day to make ends meet again, and was fortunate enough to land a record deal in the process.

By the time she closed her anecdote, Sasuke had emptied two beer cans, and was working on a third.

"It was ridiculous," Sakura said, sounding exasperated. "My dad was about to disown me. He actually thought it was _true_ just because the articles claimed to have these super 'credible sources' and 'insiders'—"

Yes, they tended to do that.

"—but he should've seen right off the bat how shoddy it all was. Yes, I like to buy pretty clothes, but I would never use my folks' money for anything other than school. And I mean, I never even _went _to college! I was a _university_ student, for crying out loud."

Itachi had graduated from university. Sasuke hadn't. Oftentimes he had imagined the experience, and thought he'd have hated it. "Hn. What'd you study?"

"Nursing. For barely a year. I loved it. I was a _genius_."

"Four-point-oh?"

A coy smile. "Three-point-nine. Enough to score some mad scholarships."

"Shame you never used the money."

"My parents certainly thought so, at the time."

Sasuke glanced around the condo. "Where are they now?"

"In Hong Kong," she grinned. "My last tour bought them a house there. For the life of me I don't know why they chose that place. It could've been anywhere – Australia, Madrid, Tuscany …"

"Parents stick to their roots." In the Uchiha home, tradition trumped everything.

"Oh, tell me about it," she said. "My dad is a stickler for decency. It's made me all but clinically paranoid about paparazzi."

He shook his can of beer. About a quarter left.

"Yeah, I get that, but the publicity won't be hard to handle if we just don't act like we're together or anything. It's just one song."

"Hoping so." She nodded, frowning slightly, but then looked at him and bit back a laugh. "Speaking of which, this session has been a total write-off, hasn't it?"

His wristwatch read four-thirty. A write-off, indeed.

With concern, Sakura said, "You're not driving home, are you?"

Sasuke smirked. "I've got a driver waiting around in the foyer."

"Poor guy," she laughed, leaning forward to pin him with a stare. "So. What about _your_ parents? It's your turn to talk."

She likely thought he hadn't been noticing how her eyes paid attention to his beer can, but he certainly had.

"Tch," he scoffed, crumpled the empty third in his fist and tossed it effortlessly straight into the recycling bin. "It's gonna take a lot more drinks than this to get me talking."

Sakura looked amused. "You have five seconds to take that back, because I could definitely hold you to it."

"Go ahead," he said, unhesitant, and stood up, stretched back his shoulders. "I'll call you the next time I need a drink partner."

"Understood," she smiled, and got to her feet to escort him to the door.

"So," said Sasuke, as he turned the knob and stepped outside, "I'll see you next weekend."

"What?" Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "What's next weekend?"

"We still need to write the song, _genius_."

Green eyes widened in realization, then cast themselves to the ceiling in embarrassment. "Right. See you then."

* * *

Living without his camera was living without sight, without imagination.

Sasori's weekend had gone by in stages of increasingly severe lethargy. Sunday evening he planned to put an end to it, and ate two boxes of dry cereal, a bag of marshmallows, and a tin of Swiss chocolates in a last-ditch effort to achieve the ultimate sugar rush. Consequently, he crashed at two-thirty in the morning and was tempted to take a sick day, but decided that work was probably his best option for fighting the boredom.

"You look terrible, yeah," was Deidara's greeting, when Sasori shoved the mudroom curtain aside. "Look at you, you're even dragging your feet, yeah."

Sasori ignored that. "Get me some coffee," he demanded, tossed his keys onto the shelf.

Deidara crossed to the coffee dispenser and filled a polystyrene cup to the brim, handing it carefully to his superior uncapped. "You still hung up over your broken camera, my man? Get it together, yeah. Why haven't you bought a new one yet?"

"Wanted to see how it'd be without it," Sasori said, and in mere seconds, half the cup's contents were gone. "Ordered one last night."

"Good to hear." Deidara looked him over with mild concern. "You should've just taken the day off, yeah."

Shrugging, Sasori emptied the cup and threw it into the rubbish bin as he passed, shaking his head roughly to wake himself up. On the other side of the curtain, his three models for the morning had already arrived, waiting for him.

He heralded one of the set designers. "Kin," he said, "what's the shoot?"

Kin looked pleased to have been addressed. Tossing her hair, she put down the box of props in her arms and gestured to the trio. "Actors," she said. "The shoot is for a magazine spread. The theme is vintage mystery. At least ten different group shots, then some individuals."

Sasori looked around, took in the fake bookshelves, the wooden table, the rugs and the cheap oil paintings. He nodded, turned to his camera, and waved his hand impatiently at the three. "Up."

One after another the actors stepped onto the immaculately designed set.

"Red," Sasori said, authoritative, "is going to sit. Elbow on the table, one leg under, one leg out, head leaned forward, eyes at ten o'clock. Stare hard."

The redhead obeyed, quite perfectly.

Sasori couldn't help but notice that the kid had startling green eyes, all too reminiscent of another young star.

"Blondie—"

"—it's Temari—"

"—is going to stand, facing the camera, back against the shelf, arms bent, holding onto the books, head tilted back and turned a fraction to the left – more left – _more _left … I gotta see your jaw, woman, not your chin … just like that, but lose the smile."

Temari did as she was told.

Once Sasori had commanded the last fellow into position, he took his own place behind the camera. The group shots ended quickly, each of them very accustomed to taking direction and very aware of the camera, as was natural for actors. The individual shots, though, were a tad rougher.

"I asked for _suave_, Red, not _menacing—"_

_(click)_

"… What's your tie doing? Is it meant to be like that? No? Fix it."

_(click) _

"Your leg is stiff. Yeah – okay – better – no, okay, stop. Look. Relax your knee. Try bending it. Right – okay—"

_(click)_

Several hundred clicks later, Sasori's break hour came round, and he found himself with nothing to occupy him once again. He didn't dare go outdoors; for every beautiful sight of nature he'd encounter, there would be a heaviness that knew it would die uncaptured.

Instead, he wandered over to the office where his camera's photos had been sent for processing. Konan was there, and Itachi too, both hovering around Kisame's computer. Sasori moved into an empty seat and pulled up the newest folder, received at eleven-forty-eight that morning.

He was becoming increasingly dissatisfied as he browsed through the files.

There was something inexplicable, that was just _missing_.

The colours were splendid. His carefully structured poses, all the shadows, some faint and others thick, all seamless and perfect in place. Even still, something wasn't quite right.

"Good work today, Sasori," came Konan's quiet voice from over his shoulder.

Sasori didn't take his eyes off the screen. "Really," he drawled.

"Visually, they're stunning. The magazine will be thrilled with these," she told him, and took hold of the mouse to scroll along the pictures. "The vintage setting really suits these three. They all had the secretive vibe to begin with."

Sasori leaned back in the chair, arms across his chest, unconvinced.

Konan's hand slid off the mouse, but paused at the edge of the table. "I have a proposal for you," she said. "A celebrity charity fashion show requested a few of our photographers to provide coverage for their event. I know I've never had to send you to one of these before, but we're short-staffed as it is at the moment."

He didn't like covering events. More often than not, they were teeming with the superficial sorts of lowlifes that paraded their extravagance and pretended they'd come out of the goodness of their hearts and not for the good publicity.

But it would be four to seven more business days before his new camera arrived.

And he needed something to fill the spaces, stave off the apathy. His art was an organ, real as his lungs; it gave him life.

And now, withdrawal.

"Alright," he said. "I'll go."

Konan kept quiet in a moment where he imagined her lifting a stern brow, not having expected his agreement, then said, "Understood. I'll fax you the details later."

She stepped away, turned, left.

Sasori went back to looking through the pictures. Eventually he moved into the pictures taken last Friday.

They caught him at once, like a hook, those striking green eyes.

See, there was nothing missing in the photos he had taken of _her_.

He thought he was coming close to putting his finger on it. She had a whole other layer of confidence, a certain magic. On the one hand, she was any other youth, an ordinary girl with her own handful of strange features and the generic insecurities and the overwhelming teen spirit. And on the other hand, she owned it.

Even when her elbows were at odd angles, when her smile came out crooked, when she turned her neck in a way that probably should have been uncomfortable, she looked like she was absolutely fine with it, like that was how it was meant to be. That sureness, the contentedness, it added another dimension to her shots.

Her freedom and energy, all haphazard, somehow blew all of his flawless arrangements, the carefully assembled poses, out of the water. At least in his eyes, they did.

Had today's photoshoot taken place before Friday, he reckoned he might've come away feeling fine with his products.

It was like she had infected his work since. Corrupted him. Intimidated him with the possibility that he might never capture another soul like hers in his lens again.

He glared at her face. She stared back, knowing eyes, sassy smile, mocking him.

Sasori shut off the computer, shoving himself away from the table and to his feet, suddenly agitated.

He hated to admit it, but despite how much he'd disliked her, he'd take Sakura Haruno's pictures again in a heartbeat.

* * *

**Thank you so much for all of your encouraging reviews, your follows, and favourites. They put huge smiles on my face. My readers are seriously the best. I hope you enjoyed the third installment of** _Capturing Sakura**,**_ **and that you'll look forward to the next. **

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